


Visits from a Dead Man

by Nachosforfree



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Prison, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachosforfree/pseuds/Nachosforfree
Summary: Dream is bored in prison, until Wilbur's ghost begins paying him visits. The visits start out almost sweet, but soon Dream wishes he could go back to the boredom of being alone.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	1. An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I hate character Dream he deserves to rot, anyways here's a fic in where I feel bad for him

The cell was silent except the hot humming and bubbling of the lava wall, but Dream had long tuned that out. He sat on the bed in the cell, staring blankly at his water hole.

“Hello Dream.”

His head snapped over to the entrance of the cell, not having heard any machinery moving to bring a visitor. He was met with an empty room. He let out a breathy giggle. He was going insane in here.

“What’s so funny?” The deep voice cooed, sounding more like they were mocking Dream than asking a genuine question.

Dream laughed harder, wheezing at his own insanity. His laughter was cut short with a yelp as something unseen yanked his hair, pulling him off of the bed and onto the floor.

“I don’t appreciate being laughed at, Dream.” The voice said with a growl. Dream could feel eyes burning into him, but he couldn’t see anyone around to look. He flushed, hands coming up to hide his face from the visitor.

The voice laughed, high pitched compared to their actual voice, “Oh, no need to hide that from me,” Dream could feel freezing hands stroke his face, and he jerked back with a gasp. “I want to see you.”

“What are you?” Dream rasped out, eyes frantically flipping about the room.

Another laugh. Then silence.

“Hello?”

A hand returned to his hair, but instead of pulling, it gently stroked his scalp. His position and the hand petting him made him feel like a dog.

“Don’t you recognize an old friend?”

The hand on his head slowly phased into view, and the body of his visitor. He looked up at their face and paled.

“Wilbur?” The shocked whisper that came out of him didn't sound like Dream. He didn’t get scared about shit like this. He’d met Ghostbur, and he’d never feared the kind, idiotic ghost.

“Are you happy to see me?” Wilbur’s ghost crouched so he and Dream were at eye level.

“You’re dead.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Wilbur flashed a smile. Had his teeth always been that sharp? Had his eyes always had a glint of rage in them? Had Dream always felt his heart plummet when Wilbur smiled at him?

The ghost stood again, never taking his hand away from Dream’s hair. He stood there, watching Dream with a soft smile on his face. Dream had begun to lean into the touch, before snapping out of his and pulling away. The hand tightened, making Dream wince.

“Come on, Dream, are you really trying to refuse some friendly contact right now? You must be so touch starved all in here alone, poor thing.” Wilbur spoke like he wasn’t actually talking to Dream, he was speaking through him, like Dream was a silly animal who didn’t understand words.

“Come here.” Wilbur turned, pulling Dream with him. He sat on Dream’s bed, pulling Dream’s head into his lap to continue running his fingers through the man’s hair.

Dream blinked, trying to understand what was happening. Maybe, just maybe, he could see Ghostbur being affectionate like this, but this wasn’t Ghostbur. This was the same Wilbur who’d gone insane, who’d blown up Manberg and made his father stab him through the chest. He wouldn’t hold Dream like this.

The feeling of someone touching him after so long slowly pulled him away from his thoughts. Despite the uncomfortable position he had kneeling on the floor, he was slowly pulled into a calm sleep by the hand gently stroking his hair. It's been so long since someone's been so gentle to him like this. Crazy or not, he'd enjoy it a little longer...


	2. Dude, I just want my mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wilbur's a little bit of a dick *3*

Sam had noticed Dream’s brightened mood the next time he came to bring him food. Dream rarely looked happy, not that Sam could blame him for that. He was a bit suspicious, though. Dream being suddenly in a good mood without having any visitors couldn’t be good news.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sam asked, eying the masked man anxiously.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. I’m just excited for… something I’m writing.” Dream hit the raw potato on his plate until it was mush, pieces sticking too and falling off of his hands.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the sight and turned away, muttering a “whatever”, as he stepped onto the platform that would take him away from Dream’s cell. He could feel Dream’s eyes burning into the back of his head, even through the mask. The lava wall fell, and he was gone.

-

Dream threw the plate into the lava, not caring that he would get punished for the action later. He turned away and stopped to stare at the clock on his wall. He spun it a few times, sighing contently at the simple action. Eventually, he grew bored, and flopped onto his bed to attempt to sleep. He pulled off his mask and placed it on top of the chest next to his bed.

As he shut his eyes, he heard a giggle. A cold hand stroked his cheek and he opened his eyes.

“Wilbur?” The touch vanished. Dream wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but that made him sad. He placed a hand where the touch had been.

“I know you’re there. I heard you.”

Wilbur appeared, floating upside down. His long trench coat hung to the floor, the ends of it were singed, pieces of soot constantly falling away from it. Fitting.

“Afternoon, Dream.” He had that same smile he always had. Sharp canines, wide eyes, looking more like he wanted to rip out Dream’s neck than have a friendly conversation, looking like he viewed Dream as some sort of prey.

“Hey.” Dream looked at Wilbur expectantly. Expecting him to float over and make Dream move so Wil could play with his hair, or for him to start babbling about something he found interesting. Wilbur stayed still though, staring at Dream with that smile still on his face.

Dream reached over for his mask, the way Wilbur’s gaze burned directly into the skin of his face made him uncomfortable, and all too aware of how vulnerable having his emotions exposed made him.   
“ _Dream._ ” Wilbur’s voice was harsh, smile turning into a frown, “I don’t like when you wear your mask. You know this.”

“ ** _I_ **don’t like when you look at my face.” His fingers closed around the edge of his mask.

Wilbur came forward faster than Dream thought was possible. He gripped Dream’s wrist, hard enough that it hurt.

“Wil-”

“I _said_ I don’t like when you wear your mask.” He twisted his hand, making the pain in Dream’s wrist grow.

“Okay, Jesus Christ!” Dream yanked his hand away, rubbing his now sore wrist gently, “I won’t wear it.”

Wilbur was immediately all smiles again. He ruffled Dream’s hair, “Good boy.”

Dream stared at Wilbur in… shock? Offense? Embarrassment? He wasn’t really sure how he felt. The idea that Wilbur saw Dream like a puppy returned.

Wilbur hummed and sat on the side of Dream’s bed, facing the chest, “Have you written anything lately?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve written a little-”

Wil was already digging through the chest, opening and closing books to see which ones seemed interesting.

"The history of the Dream SMP?" Wilbur read.

"Yeah, I figured someone had to write about what happened. For future generations and stuff."

“Right.” Wilbur flipped through a few pages before putting the book back and closing the chest.

He got up and floated aimlessly around the room. Dream could tell something was up with him.

“Is something wrong, Wilbur?”

Wil gave a breathy laugh, looking over his shoulder at Dream, “Oh, no, everything’s fine!”

Dream tilted his head, “Really?”

“Mhm!” Wilbur turned to face Dream completely, and he ruffled Dream’s hair again, “Don’t worry your _pretty_ little head about me.”

Dream gave an uncomfortable chuckle. Wilbur gave him a small push.

“Move over.”

Dream complied. Wilbur laid on the bed, pulling Dream’s head against his chest. Dream shuddered when he felt a stickiness from Wilbur’s ever-bleeding stab wound. He would need to wash his hair later.

Wilbur hummed a small tune as he ran his fingers through Dream’s blonde hair. Dream’s eyes felt heavy, he couldn’t help but shut them and relax into Wilbur.

“Goodnight, my ugly little monster.” Dream had fallen asleep before he heard Wilbur’s insult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are these too short


End file.
